


surely goodness and kindness will follow me all the days of my life

by wintercreek



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-07
Updated: 2009-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-05 17:14:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintercreek/pseuds/wintercreek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They sit there in silence after Tuvok closes the comm channel, just for a moment, before Kathryn jumps up and brusquely wipes her muddy hands on her dress.</p>
            </blockquote>





	surely goodness and kindness will follow me all the days of my life

**Author's Note:**

> For the "Episode tags and missing scenes" square on my Cliche Bingo card.

They sit there in silence after Tuvok closes the comm channel, just for a moment, before Kathryn jumps up and brusquely wipes her muddy hands on her dress. She's been fastidious with her clothes up until now, saying that they shouldn't abuse their replicator and that cleaner clothes are easier to hand-wash. It's obvious from this single action that her mind has already left this place.

She starts dismantling things immediately, repacking the pieces of their life that can be re-purposed for _Voyager's_ later benefit. Chakotay can't watch her. He slips off to the clearing that houses her bathtub and stands there, one hand on the sturdy edge, wondering what she would say if he suggested they bring it along. He won't say anything; he can't stand to hear her dismiss it as unnecessary mass and volume.

They've already hopelessly contaminated the biosphere on this plant, eating their strange foods and excreting their peculiar bacteria, planting Talaxian tomatoes and, on one memorable occasion, making an ill-fated attempt to replicate viable grape vines. Chakotay had had visions of tending the vines, harvesting and pressing the grapes in wooden tubs, making their own wine. He'd thought they'd have years to age the wine in the barrels he'd make. Once, in his Academy days, he'd gone to Italy. An aged vintner, probably pushing ninety, told him that wine-making was the best pursuit for late in life.

The months they have spent here have been the happiest he's passed in a long time. Chakotay's been walking in the desert for more years than he cares to think about, looking for a place of bounty and peace. Before New Earth, he made their limbo enough to satisfy him. It will have to be enough again.

There will be no gleeful harvest, forty years hence. There won't even be sun-ripened tomatoes in a few months. There will only be an empty bathtub, carefully carved by hand, a curiosity for the local primates.

\---

She works happily, so pleased to be rescued from their exile and returned to her command, her ship, their crew. When they'd unpacked she'd begrudged every box that didn't hold necessities or research equipment. Now Kathryn cheerfully folds an iridescent snail shell, Chakotay's beautifully carved wooden salad tongs, and a sketch of the river near their house in with the summer dresses she's worn. She won't need any of them on _Voyager_, but she can't just leave them behind.

It only takes an hour to gather her things; the damaged scientific equipment has been put away since the day after the storm. After her meager collection of items is boxed up, she notices Chakotay isn't around. She's done all she can do without his input, so she sets down the next carry bag and goes to look for him.

Kathryn finds him in the clearing, staring blankly at the bathtub. She starts to say something tart about Commanders who shirk their packing duties, but stops when he turns to look at her. "Chakotay," she starts, concerned, "what is it?"

"I -" He looks away. "Nothing. Just thinking."

His legend echoes in her ears. How is it that she didn't notice him doing this, putting her needs before his own? Whatever was on his face in that first moment is a burden he carries for them both, unasked.

"Shall we take the bathtub?" She smiles when he turns back to her. "It won't fit in my quarters, but it would be a shame to leave it here. I doubt our monkey friend would know what to do with it, despite his observations of me in it."

It's meant to be a joke and a gesture of appreciation. It feels like a promise.

He nods, slowly. "You might want it someday." In his voice is something huge and uncertain between them, something he isn't hiding anymore.

Kathryn can't say anything, so she takes his hand and looks up into the trees until her eyes clear. "I might."


End file.
